Come Back Here!

My affinity for avoiding confrontation is legendary. I've run away from fire. I've run away from floods. I've run away from minor conflict, major conflict, and have to bite on my knuckles when conflict is unavoidable and barreling toward me like a train. I have friends who can vouch for me and it made my time as a reporter, where conflict is part of the job, a good kind of challenge every single week.

With that in mind, I even surprised myself today when I found myself chasing after a guy in an SUV down South Locust Street over my lunch hour.

The baby had problems sleeping last night so I took her downstairs to rock her and fell asleep on the couch. When I woke up it was about 7:45 a.m., leaving me no time to pack my lunch as I bolted around trying to not forget my pants before I flew out the door. This, in and of itself, is not necessarily atypical. It's rare, but not unheard of.

Lunch rolls around, my blood sugar drops, so I drive to Subway on South Locust Street, order my veggie on honey oat and wait in line. The woman hands me the bag with my food and as I'm putting the change back in my wallet, an SUV pulls out of the tiny, ill-conceived parking stall and slams into the back passenger side door. I layed on the horn when it was clear he meant to smash into my mid-sized Sedan, but too late. Two distinct crunches reached my ears and varied profanity escaped my lips.

The driver, a middle-aged Hispanic man, locked eyes with me. He saw me. No way he possibly missed me. Then he put the stick on D and drove away, heading north.

And, my transaction at the window complete, I followed the son of a bitch.

It was instinct as opposed to an informed and reasoned argument. It wasn't "I can write down his license number and report him later" it was "That fucker hit my car! After him!" Also, to be fair, I had no idea what would have happened if he would have pulled over, got out of his car and demanded a confrontation. That might have changed the game a little bit. But at the time, I was after him. I wanted him to know I was following him, and given the way he tried to lose my by flying around back roads, I had his attention.

OK, I'm being overly dramatic. We never hit more than 30 MPH, but I was after him. It was only after about four blocks that reason kicked back in and I grabbed a pen and paper and jotted down his license number. Then he lost me at a stop light.

The number, which I'm resisting the urge to publish here, is probably destined for the trash. My car is a dozen years old and the scratch on my car doesn't bother me. Had he gotten out at the Subway, we would have exchanged a few words (sorry, I didn't see you. No problem, man. There's almost no damage) and that would have been that. But he ran and I chased him.

And to be honest, I'm kind of proud of myself, even though the story ends in a sputter. I can tell you, though, lunch tasted really good.

Picture Monday - Mess

We lock the dogs in the basement when we leave, and it never fails to make them mad. The other day, when my mother-in-law was over, they broke free of the baby gate AND the wooden fence we constructed and wreaked havoc in the basement, stopping to focus on her luggage.

Yes they're cute...especially their necks which I wanted to ring after this. I did have the forthought to take a picture. I give myself credit for that.

Book Review: A Tragic Legacy

By now, every reasonable man, woman and child beyond the age of reason has concluded that George W. Bush's presidency is an unmitigated disaster - lawlessness, political favors, party over country, stupidity, stubbornness, undercurrents of destroying faith and function of our government, all of that. The evidence plays out every day, and chances are you don't need anyone, even someone as articulate and forthright as Glenn Greenwald to tell you about it.

Then why pick up "Tragic Legacy," his recent book about the Bush administration? There are three big reasons:

1) Greenwald's writing style is straight forward and punchy - when Perry White said Clark Kent had a "quick, punchy prose style," in Superman, that's what he meant. I don't mean to gush, but the reason Greenwald is one of the premier bloggers on the right isn't because of what he covers, but the way he lays out the complexities and the bullshit that accompanies most political stories in a way that seem like a no brainer. He makes issues like FISA a matter of national conscious, the media's complacency and pack mentality borderline treasonous, and he does it not with emotion but with fairly unassailable logic.

The result is a book that covers a ponderous topic that manages to not be ponderous for a second - it reads straight, true and smart, a real writing trick for a book whose subject matter could easily have made you want to jump off the nearest tall building. I'm not saying it's fun, but it's very good.

2) Again, no one needs a book to tell them how to think about the Bush administration, so "A Tragic Legacy" takes a slightly wider view. Instead of focusing on Bush & Co., the scope expands to the media, the punitocracy, the legislators and ultimately, the voters, who all, when faced with the cold facts of their actions, look like villains. The comprehension both helps the reader understand why the last 7 years have been a disaster, and how it happened from the top down.

3) It might turn you on to Glenn Greenwald. The more you read of his Salon.com column, the more the dude seems to make an amazing amount of sense.

Good book. Not for the weak, but good book.

Likes on Wednesday - George Carlin

Since this is my blog I have a confession - something I seriously have never confessed to my parents, my wife, or anyone other than three people I can think of. -Deep breath- Here we go: The first time I was ever published was at 12-years-old in issue No. 3 of "Bill and Ted's Excellent Comic Book."

Please keep in mind I was 12 and reading any comic I could get my hands on - The Punisher, a ton of X titles, Image comics (I'm still not proud of that), Deadpool and some other truly awful stuff. But Bill and Ted, that was something I think I considered a guilty pleasure before the idea of guilt really sunk in. My issue, yellowing as we speak somewhere in my garage, asked a simple question of the Bill and Ted writers: Why haven't you given me more George Carlin.

In the two Bill and Ted movies, Carlin played Rufus, the guide to Reeves and Winters as they traveled back and forward in time. It was a small role, and one that didn't lead to bigger roles as it should have, but he was great at it and even at a young age, I was interested in the guy. A year later I turned 13, bootlegged a copy of "Back in Town," picked my brain up off the floor after having it blown out the back of my head and have unconditionally loved George Carlin ever since.

I've loved him through his ill-conceived sitcom. I loved him when he released "Back In Town," in my opinion the greatest single stand-up performance ever recorded. I've loved him through Jersey Girl. I've loved him through three lackluster HBO specials after his wife's death in 1998. And now, it's with great pleasure I can confidently proclaim I loved him before "It's Bad For Ya," his latest HBO special recorded a couple weeks ago when Mr. Carlin had just celebrated his 70th birthday. And I love him after hearing the HBO special, which is his best since "Back in Town."

I read some reviews that contend stand-up comics are a miserable lot by nature and a case could definitely be made that this is Carlin's reflection on coming to grips with his impending death and the death of those around him. One review said many of the jokes, like Carlin's riff on how long after someone dies to delete them from your digital address book, are tinged with sadness. I don't see it that way at all. Carlin spends a good part of the first third of "It's Bad For Ya" establishing the fact that he feels and is comfortable with the idea of not really being a human being. He phrases it as "removing yourself" from the human race, but he doesn't do it in a manner that elicits sadness, and it's not quite matter of fact - it might be celebratory.

All his macabre material - the piece about the advantages of being an old man, how to get funeral mourners to paint your garage, why he doubts people in heaven have time to smile down on earth - are all played exactly the same as if he were riffing on the English language. He doesn't flinch because I don't think the material makes him flinch. This is the work of a man severely at ease as an outsider in winter, a disaffected intellectual on the precipice of nothing.

It's that ease that made me smile more than anything. It doesn't hurt that Carlin is in his element on stage, and the stage actually looks a lot like I imagine his office does - cluttered, full of book sand with several well worn pieces of equipment strewn throughout. The guy dressed for the show in sweat pants for God's sake. Comfortable is an adjective that appropriately describes Carlin at 70.

But don't mistake "Comfortable" for "slacking." He's as sharp as he ever was, especially on religion which he attacks with new aplomb. I could go on for much longer about the show itself, but it's better you watch it for yourself. If you go to Youtube, you can find the whole special, and I can think of only five or six better ways on the planet to spend an hour than watching Carlin go at it.

He certainly continues to make me smile, even if he's the subject of my secret Bill and Ted shame. I love the guy and have for a long time. I don't see that going away any time soon.

I Don't Wanna Pick A Side

A lot of times when you're clustered together in cliques, splinter groups will form and loyalty will become almost a necessity. I was lucky enough in my adolescence to never have to pick between friends, but I'm starting to get a sense of what it feels like.

Today I listened to a podcast where the obviously talented and Bohemian Joel Hodsen, creator of the immortal Mystery Science Theater 3000, talked about his career, his work on MST3K and his new project Cinematic Titanic (props for a killer name), which is a straight-to-video making fun of old bad movies type of thing. TV's Frank was along for the ride, but it was really Joel's interview (no Trace or Mary Joe). At the end of the interview, Joel was asked about Rifftrax, Mike Nelson's straight-to-video making fun of old movies type thing that he does with Bill Corbett (the second Crow) and Kevin Murphy (Tom Servo).

His response was to first avert the question, then throw a few very well natured bombs. Phrases like "tell them I say hi," and "I don't want to make a statement by not saying anything," floated around, and the impression was solid that Cinematic Titanic and Rifftrax are, indeed, in competition and don't particularly care for each other. Hodson also went on about why he left MST3K in the first place, placing the blame splintering factions that would have eventually destroyed the show, or so he remembered.

Mommy! Daddy! Quit fighting! I love you both!

It's a real shame there has to be animosity, even if it is the most white bread, well meaning beef in the history of public beefs. Part of what got under my skin, I think, was Hodsen's spot on analysis of MST3K being a touchstone for people who didn't feel like they had a voice. His creation (the show and the robots) are genius and, push me to the wall, I liked him and the bots better than Mike and the bots. Just barely.

But then I think back to the Amazing Colossal Man, where Mike donned a bald cap and rocked the Satellite of Love and the scene seemed completely genial and fun, like friends goofing around and that was the image that always stuck with me. MST3K seemed like a fun set to be on. Guess I was wrong.

How sad.

Picture Monday - Dog Leg

Long dogs and a short stool I use to eat dinner equals this picture.

Basically, the dogs beg, unrelentingly when there's food. They beg when there is not food. If they're not asleep, they're begging for something and in this case it was my Greek chicken. I avoid their gaze, they move. I shoo them away, they come back. I cross my legs and...well, you get this photo.

Goofy animals.

Annoying Church Lyric of the Week

This one's so good, in a B-movie sort of way, we need to break it down line by line. The song is called Awesome God and rooms full of adults actually sing this with a straight face.

When He rolls up his sleeves he isn't puttin' on the Ritz
Our God is an awesome God.

Right off the bat, a sentence full of things that piss me off.

Let's start with the idea of God rolling up his sleeves. God has sleeves, apparently, and they need rolling up. Far be it from our deity to call on a seraphim or cherubim to do the job, he rolls up his own damn sleeves. He's just that kind of God. But why, one asks, is he rolling up his sleeves? If you put this line into context with the rest of the song, it's to administer some sort of holy beat down. He's rolling up his sleeves to kick some ass, as the next line demonstrates.

But we can't let this line get away with those last six words. First and foremost, it doesn't make a lick of sense. None. Not in context, not in a metaphorical sense, nothing. Logistically, God stripping down to do some Old Testament justice wouldn't put on a suit and tie, he'd roll up his sleeves like we've previously established. It stands to reason if he's taking off clothes, he's not dressing up. Even the larger idea of "Putting on the Ritz" means you're going all out, pulling out all the stops which, AGAIN, is not what the song is trying to say. It's like the author was stuck and decided to seek inspiration by hitting herself in the head with a rake or a shovel and the resulting jibberish not just made it onto paper, but past editors and those who choose music for churches. Moving on.

There is lightning in his footsteps and thunder in his fists
Our God is an awesome God.

Aside from committing multiple acts of violence against the English language, does this line make anyone else think of Zeus? I hope it's not just me.

When I was a kid I asked my parents what lightning and thunder were, and they told me it was God bowling. As it turns out, their answer to a cute kid might have made for better song lyrics than this piece of garbage. Forgiving the Old Testament interpretation of God (childish, boorish, prone to killing everyone) walking around like a pissed off monolith, in the first four lines we have God rolling up his sleeves and making fists. I'm thinking this is the same version of the Almighty that Pat Robertson said blew up the World Trade Center because of the feminists, pagans and homosexuals. It's not a flattering image and not inspiring in the least unless you're the type who pines to see the blood of your enemies spilt on the ground...which is an undeniably un-Christian thing.

Our Lord He wasn't joking when he kicked them out of Eden

Oh sweet Krishna on a pogo stick, who the Buddha thought this was a good lyric? It's God as shot through the prism of a high school pep rally, a pissed off Deity ready to administer punishment to the unfaithful, which in my experience never seems to happen. I'm also starting a search to find the person of faith who believes original sin was some sort of joke, like tomorrow God's going to come knocking and have a really good gut laugh and invite us back in for a nude fruit-a-thon. 3rd grade poetry nonsense, this lyric.

It wasn't for no reason that he shed his blood

I call a flag on the biblical reference, here. Yes, God is 3 in one, but the same God in a blue stained work shirt about to beat the shit out of some sinner who didn't make his dinner properly is largely uncredited as the savior - it's the son that subscribed to the whole suffering gig. And again, let's find the believer who thinks Jesus died for the sheer joy of crucifixion.

I think that we have too soon forgotten
That our God is an awesome God

Time for a beat down, brothers and sisters. Let's get ready for a good godly smack in the mouth.

Our God is an awesome God
He reigns from heaven above
With wisdom power and love
Our God is an awesome God

You've spent the first verse painting a picture with blood, now he's full of wisdom power and love? Cheap, that's all I've got to say. Cheap and inconsistent. Cheap and stupid. Cheap and juvenile, but mainly cheap. But I guess you've to to leave them with a smile on their face before communion or offering, huh?

One last thing I want to address - the subtle message that "our God is an awesome God" leaves room for the idea that other Gods are out there and they might be righteous or bodacious or might fly from a surfboard yelling Cowabunga! but are not, indeed awesome. I don't like polytheism in my Christian songs, call me old fashioned.

What an awful song.